Gold Cannot Be Pure
by the Ambassador
Summary: Gold cannot be pure, and people cannot be perfect." Chinese proverb


A/N: I was completely sure I would never write a Radiant Dawn fanfic, which is the sort of certainty that is absolutely _begging_ to be proved wrong. But I never would have done this if it wasn't for the mutating of the cowboy hat campaign, which I didn't exactly plan but which seemed like the thing to do, in the circumstances. Odd as they were.

I don't own Fire Emblem, and in point of fact have never played Radiant Dawn-my knowledge of it is gleaned mostly from my long-suffering girlfriend. Any mistakes made are thus my fault for not paying attention or asking her the right questions.

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Gold Cannot Be Pure

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_We'll love you just the way you are if you're perfect_

_~Alanis Morissette, 'Perfect'_

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_Then_

Mother says that sometimes you find a jewel in a dungheap. She always smiles when she says that, and looks at me. I know she means me. Micaiah. The jewel she found on a dungheap.

Not that she _really_ found me on a dungheap, though I don't know; maybe she did. She's never said where or how she found me, exactly, and I was only a tiny baby, so I can't remember it. When I was littler I asked once, but that was silly of me and it made Mother very angry. It was of no importance where I came from, she said. Unless I wanted to go _back there_? She said it very loudly and scarily, and I cried and said sorry over and over and begged her not to send me back there, wherever 'back there' was. It must have been a bad place, wherever it was. I'm Branded, after all, so what other sort of place could I have come from?

Mother doesn't mind that I'm Branded, though. She says so. Other Branded are abominations, but I'm different, and she loves me just as if I were truly human. She's told me that often and often, so it must be true. I'm special, she says. I'm her special little girl.

I love Mother very much, and I always try very hard to please her, and mostly I do. I'm always clean and tidy, and polite, and I keep a smile on my face, and I'm always careful and sensible, and I do everything she says and don't sass her or talk back, or use bad words, or sulk or whine. I'm a good girl. She says I was good even as a baby, and that's why she kept me-I never shrieked or fussed or threw tantrums. I was a nice quiet baby. Mother says that's how she knew I was special, even then, and not just any ordinary squalling half-breed brat.

Mother was really, really kind to take in a Branded baby. I know because she says so all the time. Anybody else would have just left me to die, but not Mother. Another reason I know she is kind is that she never ever hits me. Even one time when I drank too much water before bedtime and wet the bed though I was nearly six, she didn't hit me. She just told me off for being a dirty little slut, no better than an animal, and made me have a cold bath to get all the wee off, and warned me that if I ever did it again she'd decide I wasn't worth the bother of keeping and get rid of me.

I'm always really really scared when she says that. She says nobody else would ever take me in so I'd end up out on the streets begging, except nobody would ever give money or food to a Branded beggar so I'd starve to death. So whenever I'm being naughty she just says _I've had enough of you young lady out you go_ and I stop being naughty and cling to her crying and crying saying _please please don't throw me out I love you I'm sorry I'll be good just please give me a second chance please please please_.

That's why I always try so hard to be perfectly good and make Mother proud of me. I love Mother and I don't ever want her to throw me out to be a beggar and die.

_Now_

I straighten up shakily, spitting out the last few bits of vomit. Grab a handful of snow and stuff it into my mouth, hold it there 'till it melts into water, swill it round my mouth then spit it out to try and erase the taste.

Dinner tonight was rabbit stew, cooked by Laura. I smiled and ate my share and said it was lovely. Truly, though, I _hate_ red meat; it always upsets my stomach like this. And the taste makes me think of corpses.

I walk away from the splatter of sick on the frozen ground-upwind where I can't smell it. Away from the tents and fires and people. Into the night.

The stars look beautiful tonight, above the mountains.

I like to be alone like this-just me and the land. The mountains and the snow, the wind and the stars-they don't care that I'm Branded, they don't care what I am, or even that I'm alive. People are born and die but the land endures, and if everyone on Tellius dropped down dead tomorrow the land would just go on, the same as ever. It doesn't expect or demand anything from me. It doesn't need me at all.

So many people need me these days. The Dawn Brigade. Pelleas. Yune. Sothe.

I let myself fall backwards into the snow, like a child making snow angels, but I don't scissor my arms and legs for wings and a gown. I just lie there, feeling the cold of the snow, looking up at the sky. Thinking nothing at all.

Well…_trying_ to.

It's just so _tiring_, war. So _difficult_.

I close my eyes.

"_Micaiah!"_

Sothe.

Sprinting over to me. Crunch-crunch-crunch of boots on snow. Open my eyes to see him looking down. Concerned for me.

"Micaiah, are you all right?"

So many people, depending on me-

I wish I wasn't the Silver-Haired Maiden. I wish I didn't have to fight and kill. I wish all this could be someone else's task. I wish things were _different, _I wish, I wish-

I put a smile on my face.

"I'm all right, Sothe," I say. "I'm fine."


End file.
